


The Traitor's Mark

by shapedforfighting



Series: The Case Files of Nick Valentine and the Vaultdweller [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gale Anderson, Gen, Nick Valentine POV, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapedforfighting/pseuds/shapedforfighting
Summary: At the start of winter, raiders attack Sanctuary while the sole survivor, Gale Anderson, battles radiation sickness. Nick Valentine throws himself into the fray to save the settlers and his best friend.Note: part of a series of standalone works.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to Twitter user @JenniWatrous, who hunted me down to ask for more.
> 
> No philosophical questions to explore this time; I just wrote this one out of my personal driving force: spite.

Winter had descended on Sanctuary overnight.

Just the day before had been sticky hot, followed by a rad storm and then plain old rain. Sometime in the night, the rain had changed to snow, leaving the Commonwealth blanketed in a couple inches of white. A testament to the unstable nature of post-nuclear weather.

Outside the window of what Sanctuarians called the common house, heavy gray clouds banked low and sullen. It looked ready to snow again and Nick Valentine could feel the cold in his motorized joints. For a city boy like him, the prospect of getting trapped in small-settlement Sanctuary for the rest of the winter did not appeal.

Even at this pre-dawn hour, everyone else who slept in the many rooms of the common house had already left. Rain, sun, or snow, settlers had to work to survive. Nick, for his part, had been sitting on a couch, reading a dime novel whose latter half was missing. But now, he had it closed around his forefinger because he was listening to the sounds of puking coming from down the hall.

When it ended, footsteps pattering on tile heralded the arrival of Nick’s friend, Gale Anderson. She appeared in the doorway to the living area and paused at the touch of seeping cold against her bare toes. Tall and lanky, she had spiky black hair that pointed in every direction and keen dark eyes. She looked sleep-tousled and comfortable in a mostly white t-shirt and khakis, with a patched blue blanket over her shoulders.

“Nick,” Gale croaked. “I don’t feel good.” She padded over and plopped down on the couch next to him, curling up with her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

As a synthetic humanoid — an obvious one, with exposed machinery, a naked metal hand, and glowing yellow rings for eyes — Nick could count on one hand the number of times he had touched another person. Because he had been working the case of Gale’s missing son, helping her comb the Commonwealth for him for the past several months now, he knew she was not a physically affectionate person. The warmth of her side against his side was both unexpected and nice.

What was neither expected nor nice at all was the alarming pale cast to Gale’s brown skin and the ribbon of scarlet blood dripping from her nose.

“You have radiation sickness,” Nick observed. Just the day before, Gale had charged headlong into the approaching rad storm on a rescue mission. He produced from his pocket a scrap of cloth that he kept for a handkerchief and used it to wipe the blood away. “You’re not a synth, y’know. Gotta be more careful.”

Gale frowned. “It was necessary.”

“Sure. Of course.” They’d had arguments about the reckless way she risked her life in the past. Nick didn’t feel like having another one right now.

“The Rad-X should’ve been enough.” She meant the pills developed for staving off doses of radiation. She’d at least taken that much of a precaution, at Nick’s urging.

“You already know those things are rad resistant, not rad proof.” Nick got up from the couch, easing Gale’s head down onto the busted armrest. “I’ll go get some Rad Away for you.”

“No!” Gale’s hand caught Nick’s wrist, the one that still had its silicone covering. “We can’t spare it.”

Nick gifted her the full weight of an irritated glare. “You don’t just get over radiation sickness like the flu,” he growled. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Gale said nothing, but she released him. Nick drew the blanket up to her shoulders and left the handkerchief with her.

On his way out, he stopped by the kitchen. The interior was pre-war décor with all the post-apocalypse trimmings; kitschy blue space-age design, scattered over with a hurricane lantern for light, a jury-rigged potbelly stove, salvaged cooking pots and utensils, and a whole mess of cans and jars. At the counter in her blue jacket and house slippers, Mama Murphy, the community matriarch and seer, stood canning mutfruits, her old bones unable to take working outside in the cold anymore. The spicy scent of the cut fruit lingered in the air. A small fire in the stove kept the close room warm and the heat leaked out into the living room where Gale rested.

Murphy smiled when she saw Nick, her baby blue eyes lighting up. A young girl with an elfin face and wispy blond hair next to her did not, but she managed a wave. This was Jaycee, the girl Nick and Gale had saved from child traffickers just yesterday. Nick was surprised to see her working again already, even though she clearly wasn’t back to her chatty, bouncy self. Then again, the Commonwealth wasn’t exactly overrun with child therapists these days.

Nick waved back at Jaycee before clearing his throat. “Uh, Mama Murphy, would you mind—”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, dear,” Murphy said, voice dreamy. “You go on. But hurry.” She shot a suspicious glance out the window over the defunct sink. “It feels like something big will be here soon.”

“Probably just the snow,” Nick said, ducking his head back out.

Mama Murphy only snorted at his skepticism.

By the time he reached the front door, Nick realized he had an extra shadow. Jaycee made a fierce face at him. “I’m coming too.”

Nick smiled. “Welcome aboard.”

He headed for a cellar beneath one of the original homes on the west side of the settlement. The building itself had been converted into Sanctuary’s unofficial clinic, but all the medicine was kept locked up in the cellar for safe keeping. Nick poked his head in the front door and hollered for the doctor.

A scuffling came from the back, followed by a grumbling that grew louder as she approached. “Really, were ya born in a barn, yellin’ and standing’ around with the door open?” The older woman who stomped up had her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and a scowl on her face. Her expression cleared, however, upon sight of her visitor. “Oh, Nick.”

Nick shrugged an apology. “Hi, Roz. I’d come in, but I wouldn’t wanna get snow everywhere. Can you get me some Rad Away?” He dug some caps out of his trench coat pocket, preparing to count them out.

Doc Rozalynn held her hand up to forestall him. “None of that. Garvey says to give you anything you need,” she said, but her eyes were on Jaycee. It seemed rescuing the girl, and by extension the rest of Sanctuary’s children, had earned him and Gale some notoriety.

Nick dropped the caps back into his pocket with a metallic jingle. “Much obliged.”

Around back, Rozalynn took just a few minutes in the cellar. She handed Nick a small pottle of pills, and just as he thanked her, the harsh, angry buzz of a laser musket shot split the frigid air.

Faint but clear, Preston Garvey’s voice followed. “We’re under attack!”


	2. Chapter 2

What did not follow Garvey’s alarm was the usual chatter of machine gun turrets. One malfunctioning during an attack, maybe two, was expected. But all five?

Nicked dropped the pill bottle into his coat pocket. To Jaycee and Rozalynn, he said, “Stay here.” Then he sprinted for the bridge.

Shots flew as Sanctuarians took up positions along the low stone wall around the settlement, exchanging gunfire with what looked like a pack of raiders across the river.

There were a lot of them. And they were advancing, with those in the trees keeping the defenders pinned down under suppressive fire while a line of raiders waded through the shallow water. In most circumstances, the river encircling the settlement made for an excellent deterrent against attackers, but no one had counted on facing a horde of this size. Nick estimated them at thirty or forty in all, a much bigger group than typically raided this far north.

He tried not to think about those numbers, because without the turrets, they were going to be raider food. Nick pounded toward the wall, noting that all five turrets along the bridge side of the perimeter idled. Ignoring the bullets that whizzed past his head, he took a flying leap, coat flapping behind him, onto the stone platform that supported one. Grit and snow crunched beneath his shoes as he crouched and popped open the outer casing. He prayed the short wooden barrier across the front of the turret would be enough to stop any stray bullet meant to shut him down for good.

At the next turret over, the one right next to the bridge, Nick saw Sturges, Sanctuary’s resident mechanic, do the same. He had a way with machines, having once managed to save Nick himself from permanent shutdown. Between his skill and Nick’s intimate familiarity with how his own kind worked, they would have the turrets working in no time.

When the outer casing door snapped open beneath Nick’s fingers, the scent of burned wiring hit him in the face. One look inside and his confidence fizzled. The sight of cut wires greeted him, too clean for a mere malfunction. Some of the sliced ends buzzed with the turret’s attempts to activate itself.

Sabotage. No other explanation.

Down the way, Sturges must have found the same thing. He yelled, “What the _hell_!” then ducked as a shot ricocheted off his turret, showering him with sparks.

Nick risked a quick peek at the approaching forces. They were climbing the banks on the Sanctuary side in two lines, one raining a hail of bullets on the wall while the other bunch advanced and reloaded.

Working fast, with the understanding that he couldn’t fumble for even a moment, Nick popped the remote activation switch from its pocket next to the breaker box. At the same time, he was rerouting wires, crossing and twisting, to bypass the automatic targeting system. They’d have to do without. Modifications complete, he shoved at the barrel, trying to turn the whole thing without the motorized mechanisms to help. He wanted to point it at the attackers in the river, but he only got it as far as aiming at the defenders themselves.

Then a shout went up. “We’ve got your mechanic! Surrender!”

When Nick looked over, he found a leather-clad woman holding a gun on Sturges, who was raising his hands above his head. It was she who had shouted.

“Sturges!” This was Preston Garvey, voice choked and raw. He held up a closed fist, the Minuteman signal for _stop_. “Cease fire!”

“No, boss, don’t—” Sturges urged, and Nick silently agreed. He closed his eyes in exasperation and defeat. Leather Jacket motioned with her weapon for him to get down to the ground and he obliged. His step into the packed snow was the only sound as everyone else stopped firing.

Garvey got to his feet from his position down the wall. He shook his head at Sturges and tossed his laser musket into the snow. “I can’t,” he said. “Not without you.”

A roar went up from the raiders as they swarmed over the wall and the rest joined from across the bridge. Leather Jacket adjusted her aim to take in Nick. “You too, canner. Get down from there.”

Nick held his hands above his head and stepped down himself, shoes burrowing deep into the wet snow. Leather Jacket ushered him and Sturges over to the wall with the rest.

Twenty or so Sanctuarians were tossing their weapons down, some shooting miffed looks at Garvey.

Marcy Long, all wild black hair and furious eyes, was putting up a fight. She thrashed against the grips of three raiders, heels leaving skid marks in the snow, fists and elbows introducing bruises to cheekbones and noses. Nick felt certain he was about to watch her die when a giant of a raider tromped over. Dispassionately, he clocked Marcy in the face with the butt of his pipe pistol and caught her hair in his fist, forcing her to her knees next to Garvey. Though the wooden grip would have done less damage than a weighted steel one, she still hung her head, dazed, blood dripping from her mouth down her shirt.

The big fellow had his dark hair pulled back in a neat knot, a well-kept beard, and a general sense of cleanliness about him, as much as anyone could be clean in the wastes. A wide scar cut across his left brown and down his cheek, just skipping his eye. The other he had covered with a sanded piece of metal for an eye patch. Judging by his better fed weight, he was either an excellent hunter and scavenger or the leader. Or both.

But when a woman stepped up next to him, he tipped his head toward her in a subtle expression of deferral. She had choppy dark hair and twists of metal stuck through both ears all the way around the rims and in every conceivable place in between. She was a great deal shorter than Eye Patch but carried an air of command in the set of her shoulders and the alertness of her dark eyes. _This_ , Nick realized, was the leader.

“Reggie,” she said, voice pitched low and firm, “have our boys and girls round up any stragglers.”

Reggie nodded and with his free hand, he snapped his fingers twice above his head and made a circular motion with his forefinger. Any raider not babysitting a defender split off in twos and threes, heading for the rest of the dwellings.

Nick’s mind whirred. How had the raiders known to capture Sturges, Preston’s one weakness, to force his submission? Who had sabotaged all their turrets.

Soon, everyone unable to join the fight began to appear, accompanied by raider guards, in various states of compliance. Doc Rozalynn had her arms shoved painfully up behind her and walked hunched forward, face twisted into a grimace. No Jaycee with her. Mama Murphy shuffled down from the common house, leaning on the arm of a man with a shaved head, aviator glasses, and spiked leather boots. He patted her hand, saying, “Take it easy, grandma. Snow’s slippery here.”

Murphy smiled at him. “Someone raised you right, young man.” The guy looked absurdly pleased at this.

The raiders rounded them all up next to the wall, between the house closest to the bridge and the faded blue sign that had given Sanctuary its name. This place was about to be anything but, very soon.

Nick wound up right behind the sign. Over the heads of kneeling settlers, Garvey met his gaze. His quizzical frown said it all. _Where’s Gale?_

Good question.

The raider leader contemplated her captive foe, arms crossed, fingers tapping a thoughtful tattoo. “You’re looking awful confused, Garvey.”

Still frowning, Garvey said, “There’ve been no reports of raiders this far from the city. Who _are_ you?”

“I’m Stephanie,” she replied, “and these are my Hollow Horde.” A jubilant shout went up from the raiders, but a look from her quelled them. 

If Nick could have paled, he would have. He knew the name of the Hollow Horde, though they were a relatively new bunch, making a name for themselves in the northeast. On their way southwest, they would have come across nothing but fledgling settlements scattered around the northern Commonwealth, long before running up against the thinning might of the various Boston raider gangs and Gunners south of here.

Reason number one why they still had their high numbers.

“Maybe you’d like to meet the guy who did this to you,” Stephanie continued. She made a waving forward motion and one raider stepped out of the waiting crowd. He had thinning hair ringing a mostly bald head and a thick beard. One cheek raged red with swelling, the skin stretched shiny around a toothy, circular black mark. The brand of a traitor and an outcast. Above it, his eyes were bloodshot as his gaze landed square on Nick.

A disgusted murmuring started from the assembled Sanctuarians. They knew Simon Abney, a kidnapper who had joined their settlement and then tried to steal their children, Jaycee first, to slavers holed up in the abandoned town of Concord. The bottle cap mark on his cheek was fresh because Gale herself had branded him just last night, after the settlement leaders voted to cast him out.

“You!” Garvey hissed. “You cut our turrets, didn’t you? On guard duty yesterday!”

Well. That explained that.

“Thinking ahead,” Simon said, voice thick around his swollen cheek. His smile, though lopsided, was triumphant. “Did you really think I was working alone? That you could just cast me out and I’d die in a ditch somewhere, problem solved?”

“No,” Garvey replied, lip curling into a sneer. “I thought you were working with child traffickers like the nasty mole rat you are!” He spat at Simon, but the glob of saliva only made it to the snow at his boots.

Simon’s smile vanished, and he started toward Garvey, fists clenching.

“Only cost you your good looks, didn’t it?” Nick remarked. Simon’s attention snapped to him. “What’d you get for your noble sacrifice, an extra piece of bread? Pocketful of caps?”

“No,” Simon said. He strode over to Nick, leaning right up in his face. “Stephanie promised me the vault dweller. Where is she?”

The words were out of Nick’s mouth before he had time to think. “Go to hell.”

Simon hauled back and punched Nick in the side of the head. Nick went facedown in the snow. The jostled chips and sensors inside his skull shrieked warnings, throwing damage data and status reports at him, blurring his vision until at last they righted themselves on automatic.

A howl went up from Simon, who was dancing around, shaking his hand. The skin on his knuckles was peeled back and bloody.

“Dumbass,” Nick slurred at the ground. “Punching a robot like that.”

“ _This_ guy beat us?” Marcy piped up. “Told you we should’ve killed him.”

“Shut up,” said Reggie. He let go of Marcy’s hair and cracked a hand across her face.

A pause followed. One long enough for Marcy’s husband Jun, held nearby, to whisper, “God, Marcy, please don’t—”

Marcy grinned. Then she surged forward with a roar and clamped her teeth down on Reggie’s hand, sinking in to the bone.

Reggie bellowed and shook her off, throwing her into the snow, blood spraying from the wound in a wide arc. In one motion, he drew the pistol at his waist and leveled it at Marcy’s head.

A gunshot echoed across the settlement and Reggie dropped like a rock, a gaping hole right between his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few moments were snapshots of violence.

Stephanie went down right in the middle of barking an order to the Hollow Horde. She spun as she fell, blood spurting from the side of her head in the wake of another gunshot report. The shots were coming from the direction of the common house, on the other side of the rusted playground from where everyone stood.

Preston Garvey dove for his laser musket, half buried in the snow nearby. Flakes scattered everywhere as he rolled and brought it to bear on a raider. The laser buzzed and reflected red in Garvey’s eyes, melting a hole right through his target’s middle.

Mama Murphy had a knife in hand, one the shave-headed man had been carrying in his belt. One she must have stolen from him while he escorted her. She had him pulled close by the front of his jacket and was plunging the blade into his neck, again and again until he slumped at her feet.

Sturges pulled a heavy wrench from his utility belt and spun around to brain Leather Jacket with it. She crumpled with a faint cry.

All of this, between one breath and the next. But return fire from the raiders began to sound. Without their leaders to keep them in check, the Hollow Horde would slaughter the Sanctuarians.

From its hiding place in his coat sleeve, Nick dropped the remote turret switch into his waiting hand. “President Gar _vey_!” he bellowed in true parade ground fashion, his voice carrying across the angry roar of battle. “Assume the position!”

Every Sanctuarian hit the deck, lying prone upon the snow. Some threw their arms over their heads.

Before the raiders could react, Nick pressed the switch.

The turret, which Nick had only managed to turn to face the current battleground, unloaded with a drawn-out mechanical shriek. It sprayed its entire drum of rounds in the blink of an eye, spinning so fast that it stripped its barrel, hurling shrapnel and bullets in every direction. Projectiles thudded into the wooden sign at Nick’s back and tore into the standing raiders, ripping them to bloody doll rags. Over two thirds of them fell, screaming, but not without some settler casualties unlucky enough to catch a stray shot.

When the turret had done its work, the remaining Sanctuarians got to their feet, facing off against the last of the raiders. Now the field was even.

Unfortunately, Simon Abney had managed to take shelter behind the sign with Nick. By the time Nick’s surprise attack was over, he was turning the corner around the adjacent house and vanishing out of sight, making for the common house. Another rifle report rang out from the sniper.

“Shit,” Nick whispered. Simon must’ve realized the sniper could only be Gale. She was about to get flanked.

He took off after Simon, following the same route around the house to avoid the main battle. When he rounded the next corner, Simon was most of the way to the common house. Nick skidded around the turn, slipping in the snow. Drawing his pistol from his shoulder holster, he fired several shots. But the pistol just didn’t have that kind of range; between that and running while shooting, every round flew wide of his mark.

“Gale!” Nick yelled, hoping she would hear him or the shots or both. “You’ve got company!”

Simon ducked in the side door, pistol drawn. Too fast for Nick to see what kind. Nick himself slammed up against the wall next to the door, not keen on hurtling into an ambush. A swift glance inside revealed the main room was empty. Since he’d left, a bucket had appeared next to the couch where he and Gale had sat. Likely a provision for her from Mama Murphy.

A scuffling came from down the hall, followed by Simon’s voice, pitched on the verge of unhinged. “Where are you, Vaultie?!” He thundered back toward the main room, footsteps growing louder.

Nick waited until he saw the whites of Simon’s eyes before he pulled the trigger. But Simon jerked back into cover just quick enough that the bullet skimmed past his nose.

A pause followed as Nick reloaded, giving Simon a moment to realize he was trapped back there. Each of the bedrooms had windows, but they were all boarded up for the winter. He had no way out.

“Nick Valentine,” Simon said, rolling the name in his mouth as if savoring hard candy. Time to hear the negotiations, Nick expected. “Give me the vault dweller and I’ll call off the Hollow Horde. Save your stupid settlers and those kids.”

The clash of battle was tapering off, but from this angle, Nick couldn’t see who was winning. The sniper fire had stopped.

Nick clicked the revolver cylinder shut. “Sure!” he shouted back, tone cheerful. “Just as soon as I dig her up outta the ground. She died from radiation exposure, last night.”

Simon mumbled, “What?” And in that moment of surprise, Nick leapt through the door, lining Simon up for the kill.

Simon’s pistol wielding hand was rising, but not fast enough. Yet before Nick could squeeze off the shot, a metallic _bang_ rang out and Simon stumbled forward.

Behind him, now in Nick’s sights, was Jaycee, holding aloft a heavy, copper-bottomed sauce pan. She’d just hit Simon on the back of the head with it, but her childlike strength was only enough to daze him. Fury blazed in her eyes. “We _told_ you not to come back!” She crashed it down on his head again and he hit his knees.

Now Nick was afraid of hitting her. “Jaycee, get back!”

Startled at his voice, Jaycee leapt away, pressing herself against the hallway wall. Simon swung his pistol up, leveling the barrel at her.

Taking his chances, Nick fired. The bullet hit Simon in the meat of his pistol arm. He screamed and dropped the gun. The tangy scent of gun smoke filled the room.

Down the hall, something slithered from the ceiling. Or rather, a person fell from the gap created by four missing tiles. This was the way up to the sniper’s nest, built above the rafters of every house in Sanctuary, in case of attack. Gale landed on her feet and then rolled forward, coming up in a crouch next to Jaycee, like some wasteland angel of death. Skin waxy, eyes shadowed, breathing laborious. She put her 10 mm pistol against Simon’s forehead.

She said, “Close your eyes, Jaycee.”

Jaycee did not. She seemed to have aged one thousand years, between surviving kidnap and braining that same kidnapper with kitchenware. Gale didn’t turn her head to check that the girl had complied. But Nick saw the hatred that twisted Jaycee’s small face. She _wanted_ to see Simon die.

Simon raised his injured arm. “Please, no—”

But he had already squandered Gale’s mercy once. She didn’t hesitate when she pulled the trigger, taking Simon Abney’s life.

_____

Nick hustled both Jaycee and Gale out of the house, away from the sight of the corpse. In his previous life as a Boston policeman, he’d witnessed many a shootout and handled the fallout afterward. Jaycee was unquestionably in shock, her face blank. She watched the receding common house over Nick’s shoulder as he carried her toward a giant dead oak tree in the middle of the cul-de-sac out front. Even though he hated what had happened to Jaycee, the way it had stolen her youth, Nick was proud of her. Whether she became cold like Gale, or a spitfire like Marcy, or cunning like Mama Murphey, Jaycee would grow into a formidable force in the Commonwealth.

Gale had to pause and crouch next to a snow-laden bush to throw up. Then her nose started bleeding again, like a waterfall. Once she was done heaving, she shifted to a sitting position and pressed Nick’s handkerchief against it.

When she didn’t get back up to join them at the tree, Nick returned and knelt beside her, snow soaking his knees.

“Nick,” Gale gasped. It was all she managed to get out.

“Here,” he said, producing the Rad Away from his pocket. “You’re gonna be alright.”

But in the end, Gale was too dull-eyed and exhausted, and he had to coax the pills down her. When he figured she had enough to keep the radiation sickness at bay a little longer, he hauled her and Jaycee into the house across the street. Even though he didn’t know who lived there, he left the two of them on a bed with a pile of blankets. Then he went to see who had won.

By the time Nick arrived at the bridge, the remaining Sanctuarians were throwing the corpses of the Hollow Horde over the wall, onto the river’s pebbly shore. A pile of bodies already rose above the level of the wall and someone was pouring something liquid and flammable over it. Jun Long himself set the whole thing alight. The settlers who had died defending their home lay side by side next to the playground, awaiting proper burial. Nick knew some of their faces but was shamefully relieved that he had no personal attachment to any of them.

A stone-faced Preston Garvey directed the work, getting a team ready to check the trees across the river for any more surprises. He was checking his laser musket, preparing to go out with them, when Nick stepped up beside him.

Without preamble, Garvey said, “You think I’m an idiot.” His gaze flicked toward Sturges, leading a team of grave diggers toward the fallen. It would be hard digging in the frozen ground.

Nick wasn’t sure why his opinion mattered to Garvey. “You did your best in a bad situation,” he drawled. “That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

Shaking his head, Garvey said, “Gale should demote me. I’m compromised.”

“So?” said Nick with a snort. “Anyone who took your place would have weaknesses, too.”

Garvey’s mouth pressed into an unconvinced line, but he nodded.  

Nick set off for the common house, saying over his shoulder, “You’re still the best man for the job, weakness or no weakness.”

Garvey didn’t respond, instead mustering his team to move out. No time to let doubt linger for long. They had work to do.

Nick personally saw to the task of dragging Simon Abney’s corpse down to the pyre, the body leaving a long drag mark in the snow. Daylight had begun to fade, and the scent of cooking meat drifted on the breeze. A handful of flakes drifted down when he tossed the body into the fire, melting with a sizzle against the crackling heat. Flames licked at Simon’s cheeks. Feeling a little superstitious, Nick stayed until the end, watching as his skin charred, eventually obscuring the black traitor’s mark altogether.


End file.
